I have lots of fun rhyming political poems but I suppose I don't know whose asses to kiss so my stuff doesn't get published. So take this, Calvin Trillin. (Just joking)
Let me give you a couple of my humorous poems on politics:
(I have much better stuff; this is just political humor)
This is all mine: David Gottfried, Copyright, 1993-2017

This is about a neo conservative's whacky wife and her book, written the 90's, which praised the Victorian era because people in those days had a greater sense of shame.

GET THIS STRAIGHT: GERTRUDE HIMMELFARB IS PUBLISHED ONLY BECAUSE SHE’S IRVING KRISTOL’S WIFE

Himmelfarb, Himmelfarb flies back in time
To tea cups and colonies and England sublime
When everyone's verse was all tidy in rhyme
And on Sunday morn' all church bells did chime

But Himmelfarb, Himmelfarb, knows not the poor
She dreams of balls, titles and great gowns galore
And when an urchin dares knock at her door
She tartly exclaims what a messy eyesore

And Himmelfarb, Himmelfarb averts her gaze
Forgetting the soot and industrial haze
The meanness, the misers of a miserable maze
The dark and defeated of the capitalist craze

So Himmelfarb, Himmelfarb polishes the crystal
Seeing visions of splendor in slum-ridden Bristol
She won't stop pretending, not evening a bissel
Then again, let's remember, she's wed to Irv Kristol

QUICHE WILL BE SERVED, AND POVERTY WILL BE DISCUSSED

Have you seen the wealthy liberals eating quiche lorraine
They're so dainty and urbane
Yes they Summer in the plain
And they dance in Spanish rain

They adore the poor they do
And the famine that's their due
They fight bosses by the slew
And shop on finest avenue

With degrees, grace and aplomb
They pounce on a dire slum
Tell the poor that they're too glum
While clutching Mommy's tidy sum

Their Theatre's Masterpiece
And the last century's cease
Gilded gowns and Christmas geese
Gives them everlasting peace

For when they contemplate the old
Wretched London dark and cold
Portentous poverty and gold
They have a cause, my dear, to hold

This is funny and serious at the same time (And dig the verbal acumen and acoustic splendours)

IT'S THRILLING, IT'S THRILLING, THERE IS ANOTHER TRILLING

Prefatory Note:

In "An Unfinished Woman,"
Lillian Hellman relates that
Theodore Roethke once asked
her to complete a poem which
started with the line, "It's
Thrilling, it's thrilling,
there is another Trilling."

Special Note to the uninitiated: Lionel Trilling taught at Columbia and was sort of like a Hubert Humphrey liberal.
Diana was a crazy lady who fulminated against the new left and wrote "We Must March My Darlings"

It's thrilling, it's thrilling, there is another Trilling
Her name's Diana and she's meek Lionel's wife
A lioness, a loud mouth, licentiously she's swilling
Bourbon, by the bucket, and contemplating strife

That cabal, of commies, in Columbia so willing
To disrupt and corrupt a civilized, sweet life
Of gardened, partied, prickly prose instilling
An aristocratic posture, cutting like a knife

She glares, and flares, at the rebels' top billing
The student dissidents, bursting, beaming, blithe
It's clear, their politics, is making quite a killing
Turning staid ivy halls into rallies downright rife

Sorely shocked, Diana defrocks the “Maoists” who are milling
In the dorms, with lower forms, where the pot-smoking’s rife
She exclaims, with great disdain, why are these slobs not marching
To a military beat replete with drums and fife

Sent to savage and ravage in a jungle, toxic teeming
Vietnam, after the prom, for a blue collar life
Diana bitches, like a witch, that those boys were always erring
Should have bellowed "tally ho" and killed a Commie’s life

We weren't nice, mincing mice, Hegels for Hubert Humphrey
Exalting all the wars like obedient German Boors
We believed, were not deceived, and were vehemently free
You may kvetch, like a wretch, but our surging spirit soars